


Watching Over You

by gemjam



Series: A Few Of  My Favourite Things [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Plug, BDSM, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Gangbang, M/M, Polyamory, Riding Crops, Sex Club, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 14:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17327024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: Chris and Peter take Stiles to the BDSM club they like to play at.





	Watching Over You

**Author's Note:**

> For the kinktober prompt _exhibitionsim._

It seems strange that, despite everything, Chris has never been in his bedroom before. Stiles kind of wants to take advantage of that fact, make a memory that will have him reaching for himself every time he’s in his bed alone, but that’s not why they’re here. Plans are already in place for tonight, and they won’t be happening anywhere as mundane as this.

Tonight, Chris and Peter are taking him to the BDSM club that they like to visit together. There’s been a lot of discussion in the lead up to this night, and Stiles is certain that he doesn’t want to play, not tonight anyway, Chris and Peter are the only people he’s ever felt truly comfortable trusting with this side of himself. He wants to explore it further though. He wants to see this part of their lives.

Even if he’s only an observer tonight, a role that Chris assures him is accepted and welcomed, he still feels like he’s putting himself on a stage, and putting himself out there to be judged. Are people going to look at him and think he’s too young? Think he doesn’t fit in? Will they be able to tell how inexperienced he is? He hates the thought of standing out, and so he went shopping with Lydia for fashion advice, and then he asked Chris to help him choose what he should wear. He watches Chris now, contemplating the clothes laid out on his bed, and he already feels like he’s under a microscope.

“Do you want me to give you advice?” Chris asks. “Or do you want me to tell you what to wear?”

Stiles understands the difference. Chris almost always chooses Peter’s outfit, right down to what underwear he puts on. It’s one of the many aspects that Peter has given him complete control over. Chris might let Peter choose his own clothes for mooching around the house, but he never goes out the front door without being dressed by Chris, even if they’re not going somewhere together.

It’s something Stiles is used to now, he barely notices when Chris lays out clothes for Peter in the morning, or when Peter asks for permission to use the bathroom. They feel like perfectly natural things. Stiles still likes his independence though. He likes Chris being in control when they’re in a scene, but he doesn’t think he’d ever give that up completely like Peter has. He feels so out of his depth with this though.

“I mean, I want you to tell me, but I want a say in it,” Stiles says.

Chris nods, looking back down at the clothes. “These are all really nice,” he says. “You’d look great in any of them. But they’re not really you.”

Stiles frowns, moving closer. “What do you mean?” Do they make him look like a kid playing dress up? That’s the last thing he wants.

Chris reaches out, cradling the side of his face. “I want you to feel comfortable being yourself. Tonight is no different.” He turns, looking at Stiles’ closet. “May I?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles says. “It’s mostly ill-fitting jeans, plaid shirts and graphic tees. You know how I dress.”

“I like how you dress,” Chris says with a fond smile, rubbing his thumb over Stiles’ cheek before he lets his hand fall away, stepping over to the closet.

Stiles chews on his thumb as he watches Chris looking through his clothes. He’s going to feel like an idiot when Chris comes away empty handed and goes back to his new purchases. He absolutely hates being found lacking, whatever the context. Chris pulls out a black shirt though, looking at it with a little smile before turning it around for Stiles to see. There’s an Avenger’s logo that sits over his heart, the material soft and worn in. He’s certain Chris will have seen that shirt before. Stiles wears it a lot.

“This is you,” Chris says, bringing it over to the bed. “And it would go great with the leather jacket. I love this, by the way.”

Stiles gives a little laugh. “Lydia insisted on that.”

“She has excellent taste,” Chris says. He places the two items together. “What do you think?”

Stiles nods. They would look cool together, and the logo would be mostly hidden by the jacket. It’s understated. He wouldn’t look like a total geek. He would be comfortable though, and not just physically. “Yeah,” he says.

He considers the pants, the slacks and the tailored trousers that Lydia had picked out for him. He picks up the skin tight black pants instead though. He tried them on in the store, and the stretch in the fabric made them more comfortable than they looked. They still hugged his ass in all the right ways though.

“I like these.”

“I love those,” Chris says. “Why don’t you get changed? I’ll wait out here.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Thanks.”

He likes the idea of dressing up for Chris and Peter. Really, this is all for their benefit. He picks out a pair of briefs, black to match his colour scheme. His boxers did not handle the tight confines of his pants well. These are perfect though, no bunching as he tugs the material into place, fastening up the button. He pulls on the shirt and then the jacket, finishing the look off with a pair of boots. He feels good. He feels confident. He’s practically preening when he goes out to the living room to show Chris.

“You look gorgeous,” Chris says, getting to his feet to pull Stiles in close. “I can’t wait to show you off.”

Stiles frowns despite himself.

“Don’t worry,” Chris says. “I promise nobody gets to touch except me. And maybe Cub if he’s good.” He leans in for a brief kiss on the lips. “Come on. Let’s go see what he’s up to.”

Peter is, of course, sprawled out on the couch when they get there. He’s not buried in a manuscript though, he’s watching something brainless on TV, and Stiles wonders if the anticipation is getting to him too. Chris goes over to him, leaning down to kiss him long and deep, but it looks even more filthy than usual.

“Did you take a shower for me this afternoon, Cub?” he asks as he pulls back.

“Yes,” Peter agrees. His eyes are already going glassy. He’s prime for putting under.

“Did you do a nice thorough job, or do I need to check?” Chris asks, a certain edge of warning in his voice.

“I was good,” Peter says.

Chris gives a nod, accepting his answer. Stiles guesses the check is a part of their play when Peter is in the mood for it. Right now though he sits up, making grabby hands towards Stiles to get him to sit down with him. Stiles obliges. He can rarely resist.

“Right, I’ll go take my own shower then,” Chris says. “Then you can get ready.”

“Okay,” Peter agrees, but his eyes are on Stiles, clearly waiting for his kiss.

Stiles leans in, joining their mouths for a slow, sloppy kiss. It feels intimate and familiar and just the right amount of sexual. Stiles doesn’t want to get too caught up yet. They have a whole night to get through.

“You look so good,” Peter says, eyes roaming up and down him. “I want to ride you.”

“Maybe later,” Stiles says, turning to look at the TV.

“I love sitting on your cock,” Peter says, leaning into him.

“You love sitting on anyone’s cock,” Stiles says.

Peter nuzzles at his neck. “Your cock is joint first though.”

“Behave,” Stiles tells him, nudging him off with his shoulder.

“Do you want a blowjob?” Peter offers. “It will get rid of some of your tension.”

Stiles turns to give him a look. “I know you’re a cock slut, but you’ll get your fill tonight. You have to put on a good enough show if you want to get mine as well.”

Peter’s stares at him for a moment, his eyes going dark. “Well, fuck,” he says. “Okay.” He leans his head down on Stiles’ shoulder, his typical cuddly behaviour, and Stiles puts an arm around him, letting his presence ease the nervous anticipation.

They don’t move, watching the TV in silence until Chris comes back downstairs. Stiles looks up at him, feeling himself go hot all over. He’s wearing leather pants, tight leather pants, and this black T-shirt looks practically painted on. Stiles is aware that his jaw has gone slack, but he doesn’t care. Chris lifts his hands to adjust his waistband and he’s wearing goddamn fingerless leather gloves. Stiles makes a needy little noise despite himself. That catches Peter’s attention who lifts his head to look up at Chris too.

“Agreed,” he says.

“You need to get dressed, Cub,” Chris tells him. He beckons him over, and Stiles feels weak at the knees, even though he’s sitting down. “Come here,” Chris directs Peter who, as always, does exactly as he’s told. “I’ve laid everything out that I need you to put on, inside and out. Go be a good boy and get ready for me. We shall be eagerly awaiting your return.”

Peter nods his head, eyes falling down to Chris’ lips. He’s not allowed to ask though. The vulnerability of being at somebody else’s mercy is what he lives for. Chris grabs the sides of his face roughly, pulling him in for another filthy kiss. They’re clearly both already in the dynamic. Stiles is more than happy to be along for the ride. Peter makes a gorgeous noise in his throat as they part, his eyes staying closed for a moment too long.

“Go,” Chris tells him.

Peter nods his head, letting out a breathy sigh before he heads for the door.

Chris sits down beside Stiles, taking the seat Peter has vacated. Stiles shamelessly checks him out.

“Leather Dom,” he says appreciatively.

Chris gives a laugh, so much warmer than the persona he had moments ago with Peter. “I have a few looks I like when we go out. I thought it might be nice if we complemented each other tonight though,” he says, reaching out to grasp Stiles’ leather jacket with his gloved hand.

“Like team colours,” Stiles says.

“Mmmhmm,” Chris agrees.

“Are you putting Peter in leather too?” Stiles asks.

Chris’ eyes shine with amusement. “I would never put him in something that took effort to get out of. He’s not going to be dressed for long.”

Stiles nods, his cheeks heating. “Right.” Reality is starting to settle in.

“I want you to enjoy tonight,” Chris says. “It’s supposed to be fun. It can be a little overwhelming your first time, but I’m going to be with you all night. Mostly I just supervise Peter’s play when we go there. That’s something we both enjoy doing, having me watch over him while he gets used up and coveted. We don’t play with anyone who won’t respect him, and I step in if it’s not going exactly as I know we’d both like. You know Peter though, he likes it rough, he’s going to get it rough. If it’s too much for you, let me know. This is for the three of us, whether you want to play tonight or not.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “I’m looking forward to it. I’ve been looking forward to it all week. This is something I’ve been curious about since the first time Peter mentioned it to me.”

“I think you’re going to love it,” Chris says. “Just relax and go with it. It’s all about consenting adults having a good time.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “Hey, what did you mean when you said inside and out?”

“I’ve given him a plug to wear,” Chris says. “A nice thick, heavy one. He might not get much warm up, I want to make sure he’s ready. That, and it makes him squirm. And I get the mental image of sitting here knowing that he’s up there fingering himself open right now.”

“That’s a nice visualisation,” Stiles agrees breathily.

Chris moves in closer to him, their arms pressed together. “It means his body will be just as eager as his mind too. I want him molten with need by the time we get there. I want him slipping under. Then you and I can watch it all play out. We gravitate towards the regulars now, it makes play easier, no need for lengthy negotiations. And Peter is always popular. He never goes unclaimed for long.”

Stiles lets that thought resonate for a while. Peter is like no one he’s ever met, his submission is so easy and complete. It’s a joy to behold. As a sub, it gives Stiles constant inspiration for his own surrender. As a Dom, he feels honoured watching Peter let go of everything for him, letting down his guard so completely. It makes him feel powerful but so grateful at the same time.

Peter returns, bleary eyed and so content looking. He’s wearing a white T-shirt with a V-neck so deep it’s practically obscene. He looks amazing in it. It’s paired with some grey pants that look perfectly tailored for him, but as Peter comes closer to present himself, Stiles realises they’re made out of something incredibly soft. He reaches out, touching the felt like materiel. Chris leans forward, lifting up the hem of Peter’s shirt to reveal the elasticated waistband, like sweatpants material.

“Easy access,” Chris says.

Stiles’ eyes scan upwards, landing on Peter’s face and giving a smirk as their gazes meet. “I guess he’s ready to take out then.”

Stiles loves the way Peter reacts to his bravado, but the façade slips away when they arrive at the club. Peter walks in ahead of them after Chris gives him a little nod, and then Chris’ arm is around Stiles’ waist, guiding him gently inside. The place is non-descript, the lobby like that of any other club. There’s a security guard and then a hostess behind a counter who smiles at them as they enter.

“Mr. Hale, Mr. Argent, it’s a pleasure to host you this evening,” she greets. “And I see you’ve brought a guest,” she adds, turning her attention to Stiles. “Welcome. I’ll just need some ID that I can make a copy of and your name and contact information in our guestbook. I’m sure you’re aware that we have the highest discretion.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, stepping away from Chris to fill in his details as the hostess processes his driver’s license, handing it back to him.

Chris has explained all the rules to him. The club is members only, and they’re highly vetted. Platinum members, the most trusted clients, such as Chris and Peter, are allowed to vouch for guests, under the understanding that they’re responsible for them and their behaviour and any inappropriateness would lead to a lifetime ban for not only the guest but the members who invited them as well. This place is serious about security. It makes Stiles feel safer knowing that.

“Okay,” the hostess says brightly. “You can go ahead and get yourselves set up and I’ll buzz you in when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” Chris says, ushering Stiles over to where Peter is stood at some small baskets. Inside are coloured clips. “Red for you, because you don’t want to play,” Chris says, picking one out and attaching it to the hem of Stiles’ shirt. “Green for me, because sometimes I like to get involved, but I promise I’ll stay with you. I don’t have to leave your side to be in a scene. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “You’ve dominated me from the next room over before.”

Chris smirks. “It’s a skill I have.” He reaches back towards the clips. “You get grey for switch. I get black for Dom. We both get a heart for in a relationship, then blue because we like men. Do you agree with all that?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, looking down at himself. Then he looks over at Peter. He has green, white, blue and a heart.

“This is just shorthand,” Chris says. “It makes finding people who are on the same page as you a little easier. Unless you’re old play partners, negotiation and communication is expected, and just because you have red, that doesn’t mean no one’s going to talk to you. Plenty of people come here just for the social side. Embrace that. It can be a great way to meet likeminded people.”

“Sure,” Stiles agrees.

Chris gives him a nod and then reaches out for Peter, grabbing the back of his neck and giving a squeeze, pulling him in so that they’re forehead to forehead. Stiles imagines being gripped by that leather. He wants to make Chris wears those gloves at home. He wants to feel them wrapped around his cock.

“Make me proud, Cub,” Chris says softly. “You always do.”

Peter nods, his eyes shining with excitement, and Chris places a chaste kiss on his lips before pulling back, signalling to the hostess to buzz them in. Peter steps forward first and Chris puts his arm back around Stiles’ waist, gripping his hip tightly as he leads him in after Peter.

The club itself still looks fairly normal on the surface. There’s a bar and a DJ and a dancefloor. There’s also people in fetish gear, which Chris had told him to expect, but as Stiles scans the room, he can’t see anything sexual happening. There’s no nudity or play in the common areas. There are special playspaces for that.

They move further into the room, just taking it in, Chris always staying within touching distance of Peter as he keeps Stiles pinned to his side. Stiles leans happily into him. He knows he has his heart and his red clip to show he’s not interested, but having his Dom so clearly claim him makes him feel so much safer.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” a smooth, English accent says. Stiles turns to see a man stepping up to Peter with a smirk before turning his attention to Chris, his expression instantly changing to one of respect. “Chris, always a pleasure to see you both.”

“Likewise,” Chris says easily.

“And you brought a friend,” the man adds, turning his attention to Stiles, and then to his clips. “Who you’re not letting play.”

“He makes his own choices,” Chris responds.

“I see that,” the man says, still looking at Stiles’ clips.

“This is our partner, Stiles,” Chris introduces.

“Well, aren’t you a lucky boy,” the man says, meeting Stiles’ eyes. There’s something so powerful behind his gaze that Stiles can’t help being drawn to.

“Stiles, this is Deucalion,” Chris says. “He’s an old friend.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Deucalion says, extending his hand. Stiles shakes it, Deucalion’s grip firm. As they part, Deucalion turns his attention to Chris. “Perhaps we could go through to the lounge where things are a little more intimate,” he suggests, moving in close to Peter and touching his waist. It’s obvious it’s Chris’ permission he’s asking for though. “It would be a pleasure to get reacquainted.”

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” Chris agrees. “He’s nicely warmed up and you know just how he likes it.” He steps up to Peter, lining his mouth up to Peter’s ear. “Isn’t that right, Cub?”

“Yes,” Peter says obediently.

“Come along then, sweet thing,” Deucalion says, placing a hand on the small of Peter’s back and guiding him along.

They go through an entryway at the far side of the room into a much more sedate area. The music is low in here, the lighting atmospheric. There’s a real sense of intimacy in the space. Stiles guesses this is where people come for negotiations, though Chris seems to know Deucalion well enough that it doesn’t seem like it will be necessary tonight.

Deucalion leads them over to a pair of empty couches facing one another, sitting down before forcefully dragging Peter down into his lap. Stiles knows that Peter loves being manhandled, but seeing someone he doesn’t know do it makes Stiles’ protective instincts kick in. He knows that Chris is keenly aware of the situation though and he doesn’t react, simply sits down on the other couch with Stiles, sitting close so that their thighs are pressed together.

The second they’re sat, a server is coming over to greet them. This place clearly rates customer service highly. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she says. “What can I get for you tonight?”

“We’ll take a bottle of champagne, please,” Deucalion says. “Four glasses. Put it on my tab.”

“Very good, sir,” she says, retreating to the bar.

“You’re spoiling us,” Chris says.

“Your return to the fold is cause for celebration,” Deucalion says. His eyes slide over to Stiles. “Though I can see why you’ve been away.”

“We’ve been perfectly content,” Chris agrees, placing his hand on Stiles’ thigh and giving him a warm smile. He turns back to Deucalion, giving a nod towards Peter. “You know how that one gets though.”

“I certainly do,” Deucalion agrees, hand sliding up Peter’s thigh and around to his ass, pressing through the soft material of his pants to feel the plug. “And you did get him warmed up. How thoughtful of you.”

“I had him warm himself up,” Chris says. “If he wants it, he can do the work. I’m not here to coddle him.”

Stiles knows there’s a certain truth in those words, Chris can certainly be firm with Peter when he needs it, but he’s never cruel or dismissive. Peter is undoubtedly spoiled and treated with absolute love. Tonight is about fantasy as much as anything else though, and this is one that they’re both fond of.

“You picked an excellent night for your revival,” Deucalion says, his hand sliding back to Peter’s thigh, caressing up and down it. “Boyd has decided to grace us with his presence as well.”

That gets Chris’ attention. “Boyd is here?”

“He was still mingling the last time I saw him,” Deucalion responds, taking his phone out of his pocket. “I’m sure he’s appreciate knowing you’re here though.”

Stiles turns to Chris. “Who’s Boyd?”

“He’s a professional,” Chris explains. “He runs seminars on BDSM technique. I learnt how to perform suspension play from him. He does a lot of his play for pay, but sometimes he likes to just come to a club and enjoy himself. He gets plenty of prepositions, but if he feels like playing with Peter then you just might get a masterclass.”

“Who wouldn’t want to play with this darling?” Deucalion asks, walking his fingers up Peter’s thigh and making him squirm with a little noise. “You can wriggle in my lap like that all night, sweet thing,” Deucalion says, putting an arm around Peter’s waist and pulling him closer.

Stiles doesn’t like how unsettled Peter looks. He can tell it’s from more than just impatience. Peter wants to kneel. He always wants to kneel when he’s starting to go under and it’s like Deucalion’s holding it just out of reach for him. Stiles looks to Chris, wondering if he’s going to say something, but Chris responds to his imploring look with a calm smile, giving him a reassuring nod while he squeezes his thigh. He has this under control. He’s never given Stiles reason to doubt him and so he has to trust.

The champagne arrives and the server pours out four glasses before placing the bottle back into a bucket of ice to keep cool. Deucalion leans forward, picking up one of the glasses, Peter forced to tip with him as he moves.

“No glass for you,” he tells Peter, looking at him pointedly. “We can share.”

Chris reaches forward, picking up two of the champagne flutes and offering one out to Stiles. He takes it with a smile. Chris told him this was a respectable place but Stiles wasn’t expecting anything as high end as this.

“To old friends,” Deucalion says, holding his glass aloft in toast. “And new,” he adds, giving Stiles a nod.

Stiles gives a nod in return, holding up his own glass. He still feels guarded, as well as completely out of his depth and certain it shows, but he has no intention of being rude. Chris knows this guy, and he’s willing to let him play with Peter. Stiles has to give him a chance.

Chris taps his glass against Stiles’ giving him a look filled with affection before they all drink. Deucalion swallows his down slowly, decadently, his hand sliding down Peter’s side while he considers him. He takes hold of Peter’s jaw, sipping some more champagne, but this time he pulls Peter’s mouth to his, tongue surging forward, forcing Peter’s mouth open to share the drink between them.

Stiles stares, mesmerised. He takes a sip of his own champagne, letting the bubbles sit on his tongue, a tickly sensation that makes him want to shiver. He wonders what it would feel like, the cool liquid mixing with the hot swipe of tongues, the texture of the bubbles dancing over them. He wonders what it would feel like against his dick. He feels his cheeks heat, swallowing the liquid down. Chris leans in close to him as Deucalion goes in for another champagne kiss.

“Do you want to know what it feels like?” Chris offers.

Stiles turns to face him, biting his lip. He wants it so badly he can practically feel it. “Not here,” he responds.

Chris gives a nod, such easy acceptance. He’s always been so responsive to Stiles’ wants and needs and limits. “We’ll get a bottle to share between the three of us at home.”

Stiles smiles at him, feeling a little braver. Whatever he wants always feels so safe with Chris. “And one of you can suck my cock with a mouthful of it.”

Chris grins, leaning in close. “I like that idea,” he says lowly, grazing his lips against Stiles’ cheek.

“Alright,” Deucalion says, pulling away from Peter and thumbing over his damp lips. “You can kneel for me now.”

Stiles can see the tension leaving Peter’s body as he sinks down to his knees, and it eases something in Stiles as well. He watches as Peter bows his head, hands resting on his thighs, and he wants to pet him like he always does when Peter is on his knees for him, wants to tell him what a good boy he is. Peter is so wonderfully, beautifully vulnerable when he’s like this, and it makes Stiles want to be closer to him. Peter isn’t kneeling for his benefit now though. They’re all part of a much bigger picture. It’s one that Stiles has wanted to explore, so he sits back to let it play out.

Chris squeezes his thigh and Stiles looks over at him and his pointed expression. It’s not as crass as an _I told you so_ , but it’s highlighting the fact that Chris is in control of this, that he knew Deucalion wouldn’t push Peter past what he could stand, that he wouldn’t trust his Cub to anyone who didn’t know him well enough to take proper care of him.

Stiles gives a half-hearted little eyeroll, bumping his head against Chris’ shoulder affectionately. Chris presses a kiss to his temple before he pulls away.

“So, Stiles,” Deucalion says. “How did you gain the pleasure of being involved with Chris and Peter?”

“We met online,” Stiles says. “Peter contacted me on a kinky dating site.”

Deucalion hums appreciatively, looking at Chris. “Is that where I need to go to find me one of these?” he asks, nodding at Stiles.

“It’s not cute when you talk about him like that,” Chris warns, putting an arm around Stiles’ shoulders.

Stiles turns to face him with a self-deprecating look. “I can tell him off myself.”

Chris looks delighted at that. “Go on, then.”

Stiles gives a laugh, turning back to Deucalion. “I don’t like objectification. Or being talked down to. I’m smart and I want to be treated like it. I’m not a twink and when I want control, I take it completely, but even when I submit, that’s on my terms and I still won’t let anyone treat me like that.”

Deucalion nods solemnly. “Noted. I apologise for any offense. I suppose I’m used to seeing Chris with Peter and you came across very docile beside him. I assumed the dynamic which was unfair of me.”

“I get it,” Stiles says. “When I lean on him I lean hard. But I’m not a meek little sub.”

“I see that,” Deucalion agrees. “I would be delighted to see that clip green on you one day. It would be lovely to see that in action.”

Stiles can’t quite tell if he means he’d like to see exactly what kind of sub he is, or whether he wants to witness his Dom side, but either way Stiles isn’t sure he’ll ever feel comfortable enough to show those parts of himself to strangers. He supposes that the more you come here, the less they become strangers though.

A man approaches their little sitting area, standing over Peter. He’s solid looking, Stiles can see the physical strength beneath his casual looking clothes, black pants and a deep crimson T-shirt. There’s something commanding about him, the way he holds himself with such certainty. He has a gym bag slung over his shoulder, presumably full of toys or equipment or things that wouldn’t even occur to Stiles. Chris and Peter have a pretty extensive collection but Stiles bets that some people here would call them vanilla.

The man considers Peter for a moment and then slips his gym bag off his shoulder, dropping it deliberately to the floor by Peter’s side. It lands with a clunk, making Stiles even more curious about its contents. Peter jumps at the sudden intrusion into the soft space he’s fallen into, his whole body jolting, but he keeps his head bowed. Stiles can tell that he’s waiting. The man reaches down, raking his fingers through Peter’s hair before gripping hard, yanking his head back as he forces Peter to look up at him.

“Hello, Peter,” he says, his voice level and firm.

“Hello, Mr Boyd,” Peter breathes softly.

Stiles looks at the man again. Boyd. Stiles was expecting someone much older, decades of experience under his belt. This guy barely looks older than him.

Boyd smirks, loosening his grip on Peter’s hair to ruffle his fingers through it before giving a little push to bow his head back down. He looks over at Chris. “You keep him so obedient.”

“Boundaries are good for him,” Chris responds. That much Stiles can definitely agree with. Peter always seems so happy when he’s kept in his place, the place he’s chosen to put himself.

“Help yourself to champagne,” Deucalion offers. “We got you a glass.”

“I prefer to stay sharp,” Boyd says, stepping past Peter to sit beside Deucalion on the couch. “I see you called dibs.”

“I’m willing to share,” Deucalion assures him.

Stiles doesn’t know how he feels about them negotiating about Peter as though he’s a commodity to pick and choose over. Neither of them have consulted with Chris yet, but judging by the familiarity between the three of them, it seems like those days have come and gone. When Chris and Peter come to play, Deucalion and Boyd and maybe a lot of other people in this room know exactly what it means. If Chris trusts them, Peter’s fair game. Stiles can’t help but think that’s so much responsibility to put in somebody else’s hands.

The conversation starts to flow and Stiles drifts in and out, his eyes on Peter. It’s so obvious that he’s in his happy place and Stiles feels so wonderfully warm watching him. This is what he loves, and that’s what Stiles is here to witness today. He wants to go over there and pet him and hold him and tell him how good he’s being. He’s pretty sure he can do that later though. He is all about the aftercare tonight.

Chris keeps his hand on Stiles’ thigh and makes sure he’s included. It’s a nice feeling. He ends up drinking a couple of glasses of champagne, not nearly enough to get rid of his inhibitions, but it makes him feel more comfortable with his surroundings. He likes Boyd, likes how straightforward he is, and how he talks with passion but care about what he does. He finds himself warming to Deucalion as well, he’s smooth and a little ostentatious, but basically harmless seeming and Stiles is pretty sure he could listen to that accent all night. That’s not really what any of them are here for though. Stiles always knew things were going to move along sooner or later.

As the champagne comes to an end, Stiles can feel the mood start to shift. Everything has been civilised since Peter sank to his knees, but as Chris leans forward to place his empty glass on the table, Stiles can see the deliberateness of the action. He’s drawing a line under the conversation.

“As pleasant as catching up always is, this isn’t what I brought my little Cub here for.”

Deucalion purses his lips, looking down at Peter. “What did you have in mind?”

“You know the rules,” Chris says easily. “No breathplay, no medical, no bodily fluids, no breaking the skin. His safeword is red, he’ll let you know if it’s too much. You know how he is though. Eager. Desperate. Just wear him out for me. Use him up any way that you want. He’ll be incredibly grateful.”

“I’ve got some ideas,” Boyd says, before gesturing to Deucalion. “Seeing him taken apart by somebody else might just inspire something even more special though.”

Stiles can see the tension in Peter’s shoulders, but it’s not fear or apprehension. It’s anticipation. This is what he’s been waiting for all night, all week, ever since they made this date.

Chris gets to his feet, leaning over Peter and lining his mouth up to his ear. “I’m going to have you taken care of now, Cub.”

“Thank you,” Peter says, his voice already strained.

“You’re such a good boy,” Chris tells him, tickling his fingers over the nape of his neck. He looks back to Stiles, inclining his head in invitation. Peter is his too. His to love, his to play with, his to give away.

Stiles stands up from the couch, rounding the table to join them. He plays his fingers alongside Chris’, Peter shivering at the dual sensations. It makes Stiles feel a little more confident. He leans down to whisper in his ear, breathy enough to tickle but deliberately loud enough for Deucalion and Boyd to hear too. That’s the game.

“Remember what I said, Cub,” Stiles tells him. “This is free, but you have to earn me tonight. Show me you deserve it.”

Peter nods his head, letting out a shuddery breath. “I will.”

Stiles lets his lips curl up into a smile against Peter’s flesh so that he can feel it. “You’re such a good boy for me. I can’t wait to see how good. Perfect little cock slut.”

Peter whines, squeezing his eyes shut. Stiles rakes his fingers through his hair, looking at Chris as he straightens himself up, something unspoken passing between them. This is suddenly real, Stiles’ heart beating fast in his chest, but there’s literally no one he’d rather share it with.

“Cub,” Chris says, his eyes still fixed on Stiles. “Up.”

Peter gets to his feet, slow and careful. Stiles wants to reach out and guide him, it’s what he and Chris usually do and it feels so unsafe here to let him sway on his own, but Chris doesn’t move so Stiles waits. Once Peter is steady, Chris gives a curt nod.

“You’re theirs now.”

“Come with me, my beautiful thing,” Deucalion says, placing a hand against the small of Peter’s back and guiding him forward.

Stiles watches, Boyd close behind them, as Chris’ arm slides around his waist, tugging him in close. “You okay?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah.”

Chris gives his waist a squeeze, the two of them following Peter as he’s led down a corridor. There are curtained doorways and curtained windows. Some are open, some closed off for privacy. Further down, Stiles can see actual doors. As they pass by playspaces, he sees snippets of people’s scenes, and he starts to feel a little lightheaded, but not in that good subby way.

“Excuse me,” Chris says to a passing waitress as Deucalion steers Peter into one of the curtained playspaces. “Could we get a pitcher of water and five glasses in here, please?” Chris asks, gesturing towards the curtain.

“Of course, sir,” the waitress says cheerily.

As they step inside the space, Stiles looks around, taking it all in. The floor is black rubber that gives slightly under his feet, and probably under hands and knees too. It seems soft but like it would create friction. There’s some shelves though with sheets and blankets if they’re wanted, all folded neatly, as well as condoms and lubricant, all in little single use packets. There’s a leather chair to one side, a bed to the other that looks like a sturdy massage table. It has eyelets like the ones on Chris and Peter’s bed for securing someone to in all kinds of inventive ways. The back wall has a similar set up for tying someone in place in more combinations than Stiles can even imagine.

The waitress returns with a tray, placing it down on a little table by the leather chair.

“Thank you,” Chris says, slipping her a tip on her way out.

He closes the curtain behind her but then goes to the window and pulls back the material there to reveal the glass, letting everyone who passes by get a good look at whatever unfolds. Stiles guesses the message is that no further participants are required, but feel free to watch. He bites down on his lip, feeling uneasy. How is he supposed to trust strangers with this, and passing ones at that who have no investment in them. It’s pure voyeurism and Stiles is the last person to judge other people’s kinks, but he doesn’t like being on the receiving end of it.

It’s not him they’re going to be looking at though. It’s Peter, who has never shied away from his exhibitionist side. Stiles remembers that photograph Chris sent him the first time they talked on _KinkConnect_ , his cock down Peter’s throat, remembers the way that Peter’s eyes had lit up because he knew that Chris was taking the photograph, knew who he was going to send it to. He got off on that. He loved it. Stiles wants to watch him love this.

“Strip,” Deucalion says in a tone that’s almost bored, taking off his own jacket and placing it on a hook by the door. “Then kneel.”

As Peter pulls his T-shirt over his head, Chris goes over to the tray, pouring out a glass of water and returning to Stiles, slipping his arm around his waist. “Come here,” he says, taking him over to the bed. He hops up effortlessly, patting the space next to him. Stiles climbs up in a slightly less dignified way. Chris hands the glass to him. “Take little sips.”

Stiles smiles at him, doing as he’s told. Chris always knows exactly what’s going on in his head. He lets trickles of water slip down his throat as he watches Peter toe off his shoes and push his pants down, Deucalion’s eyes all over him as he moves closer. Boyd sits down in the chair, looking perfectly at ease as it begins to play out in front of him. Stiles can already tell that this man has endless patience.

“If you need a breather, it’s fine,” Chris tells Stiles quietly. “I can’t leave Peter, but if you want to stop, we all stop and we all go. That’s okay if you need that.”

Stiles shakes his head, shrugging his jacket off. “I’m fine.”

“It’s a hell of a jump from being in a committed poly relationship to watching your partner with a stranger,” Chris says. “This is what we like. This doesn’t have to be what you like.”

“I don’t want to do _that_ ,” Stiles says, nodding towards Peter who is sinking to his knees in the middle of the space. “But being here I really want to do.”

“Okay,” Chris says. “You let me know if that changes.”

Stiles nods, giving him a little smile and leaning into him.

Peter bows down his head as Deucalion stands by the shelves, sorting through packets of lube. Everything is quiet and still, Stiles clutching his glass hard. He can see the surrender in Peter’s body, the readiness for whatever comes next. Stiles is still itching to play with him himself, but that’s not what this is about. He gets to go home with Peter. He gets to keep him. But right now he can give him what he needs by bearing witness. When he looks at it like that, he feels honoured.

“You make a very pretty picture, Peter,” Deucalion says as he finally turns to face him. Condom and lube packets in hand. “All good posture and hard cock and head bowed in perfect submission.” He crouches by his side, looking down pointedly at his crotch. “I can see the precome beading up. No one’s even touched you yet and that’s how desperate you are.” He reaches a hand back to slide over Peter’s ass, taking hold of the plug and turning slowly. “You’ve got this though, haven’t you?” He pulls slowly until he feels resistance and then lets it slip back snugly into place. Peter makes a beautiful little sound. “All fucked open already.”

He gives another tug, harder this time, but he doesn’t pull it out. Peter’s body tenses and Stiles can tell he’s trying to stay still, to be good, even though all he wants is more. He’ll wait his turn. He always does. Stiles licks his lips.

“All fours,” Deucalion says. “And then ask nicely.”

Peter moves, steady and careful like Chris has always taught him to be when he’s under. Stiles is glad that Deucalion is patient with him, but this is all run by Chris’ rules of course. Deucalion didn’t get to play with Peter so easily tonight without proving that he could follow them.

Peter positions himself on his hands and knees, adjusting himself a couple of times to make sure he’s stable before he settles, head bowing down and shoulders rounding. “Please,” he says, his voice clear but softer in that way it gets when he retreats inside himself to that special headspace. Stiles always feels proud when he gets him there. “Fuck me open.”

Deucalion tuts, slow and condescending. “I know Chris keeps you seen rather than heard, sweet thing, but in my book that wasn’t asking nicely. I think you need a little practice. Make me feel special, Peter. Convince me.”

Peter nods his head but he doesn’t speak. Stiles knows how hard it can be for him to find the words during a scene. Part of it is the practiced reliance on Chris doing everything for him and having the words _I want_ consensually taken out of his vocabulary, but the other part is that he lets go of himself with such abandon that getting back inside his own head to pull out the words can be a challenge.

Stiles never forces him, he loves watching him go to that place where he’s beyond it all, but he knows that Peter doesn’t mind having his limits played with, doesn’t mind being pushed to strip away that next layer of himself by being present when he wants to just float. Stiles wants so badly to see how this plays out, even if he’s ready to jump in at any second if he gets the slightest inkling that Peter isn’t okay.

“I love your cock,” Peter finally says, sorting through his thoughts to find something coherent.

“Sweetheart, I doubt you’ve ever met a cock you didn’t love,” Deucalion says dryly.

“I love the way you fuck me,” Peter says, a note of hopefulness in his voice.

“And what way is that?” Deucalion asks.

“Like you deserve it,” Peter says. “I love serving you. I love it when you use my body to make you feel good.”

“It does feel good,” Deucalion muses.

He reaches back, twisting the plug inside Peter’s body again, making him suck in air as he forces himself to remain still. Deucalion taps his finger against the base in a thoughtful little rhythm. Finally, he moves around behind Peter, giving a firm tug.

“You’re asking to be used?”

“Yes,” Peter agrees.

“Knees further apart then,” Deucalion says.

He nudges firmly at Peter until he’s spread open, the base of the plug protruding from him. He looks delicious. Stiles takes a sip of his water. Deucalion takes hold of the plug, easing it back and forth a couple of times before he slides it out, putting it aside. He places his hands on Peter’s cheeks, pulling outwards to expose his hole, glistening with lube.

“Look how sloppy you are,” Deucalion says.

He presses his thumbs against Peter’s hole, pushing them inside with little resistance, easing them apart to stretch him further open, holding him there like that as Peter whines. It’s not discomfort, Stiles knows. It’s pure want. Stiles’ eyes catch on the window, people lingering to take a look, and Stiles feels a little war inside him between pride at his boy and protectiveness over him. This is how Peter wants it though, and Stiles has no intention of judging or discouraging him. He wants him to feel empowered by the attention he’s getting because he knows that’s what this is about. He wants to be worshipped, it’s one of the first things he ever told Stiles. Stiles would never, ever stand in the way of that, so he settles on pride and feels a genuine little glow inside him.

“This definitely needs filling up,” Deucalion says, slipping his thumbs out and not even pausing before he’s unfastening his pants. “Can’t leave a pretty hole like this empty.”

He lets his slacks and underwear fall down to pool at his knees, unconcerned about how he looks. Stiles kind of admires that. He watches Peter shift his weight onto his hands, ready for his body to be rammed into, as Deucalion rolls on the condom with a sure, steady hand, not even the slightest hint of impatience in the action. That kind of control always gets to Stiles. No matter how dominant he is, it’s something he can never possess.

Deucalion finally moves, grabbing one of Peter’s hips roughly as he wraps a hand around his own cock, moving forward and guiding it into place. Stiles leans more heavily into Chris, putting his head on his shoulder. Chris slips an arm easily around him, a silent reassurance. Neither of them takes their eyes off the show in front of them though.

Deucalion presses the head of his cock into Peter’s hole, and then he stills, his hand going to Peter’s other hip. Instead of thrusting forward, he pulls Peter back onto him, Peter tugged off balance, giving a moan as he’s filled. It makes Stiles go hot all over. There’s really no room to get hard in these pants, but his cock is sure trying. He makes a little noise, Chris holding him tighter.

Deucalion pushes Peter away from him, letting his cock slide almost out, and then he pulls hard, slamming Peter onto his cock again. Peter moans, pure pleasure, at being manhandled as much as at being fucked. It’s such a ridiculously hot move. Stiles can imagine having it done to him. He can imagine doing it to Peter. He loves that duality.

“That’s it,” Deucalion encourages. “Come and get it. Fill yourself up.”

He says the words as though Peter has a choice, as though Deucalion is not in total control of his body. Peter’s the one moving though so it must feel like he’s riding Deucalion, even though he can’t thrust back of his own accord. He’s both a whore and a puppet.

Stiles bites down on his lip as he watches Peter get pushed and pulled, his cock hanging heavy, swinging with the harsh rocking of his body. It goes ignored, but Stiles doubts that’s something that even registers with Peter. He likes being used and he likes to serve and he likes to earn it. There’s no way he’ll feel like he’s earned it yet. Stiles knows he’ll be in such a lovely place in his head though, having his body dominated so completely that he can’t move and yet can’t not. He doesn’t get a say in any of it, which is exactly when he’s happiest.

Deucalion pulls Peter flush against him and then he sits back, taking Peter with him so that he’s forced to sit up, body draped against Deucalion’s as he sits in his lap, Deucalion’s cock still buried inside him. Deucalion holds him there, grinding up against him. Peter whines, his head falling back against Deucalion’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Deucalion agrees. “You love that, don’t you?” He traces his hands up, fingers playing deliberately over Peter’s nipples. “Did Chris fuck you open before he brought you out tonight?”

Peter shakes his head, eyes shut tight, his expression strained as he tries not to squirm. He hasn’t been told he can move, so Stiles knows that he won’t.

“So you fucked yourself open?” Deucalion asks, still grinding into him.

Peter nods his head, his thighs quivering.

“No wonder the pair of you had to recruit another partner,” Deucalion says. “You’re such a slut, no one could keep up, could they, darling?”

Peter shakes his head, taking urgent little breaths. Stiles is strangely charmed that Deucalion is including him in his scene, that he understands his role in all this and respects it. What he’s saying isn’t true, Stiles isn’t there to ease the burden, but Deucalion knows that as much as he does. This is just dirty talk, the kind that Stiles knows Peter will get off on. He feels proud that, even within all the bullshit, it’s acknowledged that Peter is his. He and Chris get to keep him. The rest is just theatre.

“Go on, then,” Deucalion says, giving the side of Peter’s hip a slap. “Get your fill. Ride my cock, Peter, like we all know you want to.”

Peter makes a strained sound but he starts to move, lifting his hips sluggishly at first and sinking back down onto Deucalion’s cock. He shifts his position, taking his own weight so that he has more leverage, and then he moves again, lifting up and slamming himself back down. He sets up a rhythm, no shame or inhibitions, his cock slapping against his stomach as he fucks himself on Deucalion’s dick. Something about it just feels so real and honest to Stiles. He’s pleasure seeking and he’s serving but there’s nothing aesthetic about it, despite their surroundings and the audience that Peter never checks to see is there. Nothing is for show. Peter is so completely in the moment, which makes it the most beautiful thing Stiles has ever seen.

As Deucalion starts to get close, his hands go back to Peter’s hips, gripping hard, but he doesn’t guide him. He lets Peter move at his own pace, which is punishing enough already, arching his neck back as Peter just keeps building and building. He grits his teeth, a snarl coming over him as his fingers dig into the flesh of Peter’s hips hard enough to leave marks, of that Stiles is sure. He’ll be there tomorrow to touch them tenderly and tell Peter what a good boy he is. That’s worth so much more than a fuck. It’s worth everything.

Deucalion comes, holding Peter into place as his hips stutter upwards with his orgasm, growling and then bowing his head forward, teeth scraping over Peter’s neck, making Peter shiver. Deucalion, even as he comes, is in too much control to break the skin though. He knows the rules. He respects the rules. Despite having just watched him fuck and belittle the man he cares so much about, Stiles respects Deucalion now. He understands why this is someone Chris trusts Peter with.

Deucalion pushes Peter forward, returning him to his hands and knees, his cock slipping free. He gets to his feet, moving over to the shelves, pulling off the condom and discarding it before grabbing some tissues to clean himself up. Peter stays on his hands and knees, his muscles looking unsteady, his cock still straining painfully, precome dribbling down his length. Stiles wants to go to him. He can’t take the stillness. He sips at his water for something to do before placing it aside, twisting his hands together.

“How you doing?” Chris asks, his voice hushed.

Stiles nods. “I’m okay. I like watching him.”

Chris nods knowingly, nuzzling at his temple. “But you’re not as patient as him.”

Stiles looks at him. “Maybe I could learn to be.”

Chris smiles softly at him. “I don’t want you to be like him. That wouldn’t be any fun at all.”

Stiles leans forward, brushing their lips together. It sends a little shiver through him. He’s so on edge. He thought this would be hot, pornographic, or he was even prepared for it to be a total turn off, but he didn’t know it would get to him on an emotional level, that it would make him feel vulnerable like he was the one there, but in that perfect submissive way. He has control over Peter, he knows in Peter’s head he has two Doms, and some special guests tonight, but there’s that little squirmy, subby part of Stiles that’s laying just below the surface too. He’s never felt like he was switching between one and the other by the second before. He’s never felt it simultaneously like this.

Boyd shifts in his seat, a creak of leather, and it instantly pulls Stiles’ attention to him. Deucalion is pouring himself a glass of water, his clothes righted. Boyd tilts his head slightly as he looks over Peter, his eyes keen and sharp.

“Present,” he says, the word short and clear, cutting through the silence as though it created it.

Peter moves, sinking downwards as he slides his arms out in front of himself, ass angled up in the air. He’s absolutely begging to be fucked. Stiles has seen him in this position on the bench in Chris and Peter’s bedroom before, strapped into place, but he’s never seen Peter so willingly hold himself like this. It’s mesmerising.

Boyd reaches for his gym bag, pulling the zip open with slow deliberateness, letting the metallic clang of teeth draw out over the room. He rummages inside for a moment and then pulls out a black riding crop, playing with the leather tongue between his fingers as he contemplates Peter. Deucalion leans against the wall with his drink, clearly settling in to watch this all play out. He was eager to have Boyd involved tonight and he’s getting his show now.

Boyd gets slowly to his feet, his boots heavy against the floor that seems to absorb all other impacts against it. His steps are steady and commanding as he circles Peter, looking him over from every angle, his attention seeming designed to highlight just how exposed Peter is, nowhere to hide, at the mercy of his judgement.

He finally stops behind Peter, looking down at him. “Your hole is so pink and used up,” he says, every word out of his mouth feeling like such an unescapable fact, a truth of the universe. “It’s very pretty. How about we make your insides match your outsides?”

He brings the crop down without warning, slapping it hard against Peter’s ass and making the flesh reverberate. Stiles flinches. He can imagine how sharp the pain must be. Peter makes a strangled noise, but not one of displeasure.

“When I ask you a question I expect an answer,” Boyd says firmly.

“Yes, Mr Boyd,” Peter says, his voice broken and wet but so attentive. “Thank you, Mr Boyd.”

“You thank me after,” Boyd says, and then he brings the crop down again.

His form, his posture, is exquisite. Stiles can see exactly what Chris means about him being a professional. Everything about him is careful and practised but not cold. Stiles can see in his eyes, the way he savours each hit and squirm and cry before he lays the next one down. He’s not counting down until Peter can take another. He’s revelling in the high he gets from what he’s doing and what he’s giving and how much the surrender of a sub means to him.

Sometimes that feeling is overwhelming, especially when you add emotions to the mix. It can be just as intense as subspace for Stiles, but in a way that brings things into sharp focus rather than narrowing them down. Everything is his sub and their pleasure and their safety and what they’re willing to offer. With Peter, right from that first time, it’s always been everything.

Boyd slowly builds the intensity, the rhythmic swoosh of the crop through the air followed by the dull slapping thud of it landing against Peter’s skin, the sounds coming closer and closer together until Stiles feels dizzy with it. He bites down on his lip, gripping his own thigh hard. Chris’ arm is around him, thumb rubbing over his hip, but he’s just as rapt as Stiles is. The display of control is something to behold and it feels like they’re all under his spell. The respect in the room is palpable.

Each time the crop lands, Peter’s body can’t help but respond, every muscle tensing for a fraction of a second with the impact as it resonates through him, a high little sound forced from his throat. His whole body is flushed and glistening with sweat, his cock still as hard as ever, so deep in colour that it looks as painful as his ass that’s painted a beautiful pink, just like Boyd promised.

“Last one,” Boyd says, his voice breathy but still strong. “Then you say thank you.”

Peter nods his head, everything looking heightened as he waits. Boyd doesn’t give it right away. He stands, still and silent, letting the anticipation build and build until Stiles can feel it on his own skin. The hit is hard when it comes, a tiny burst of controlled violence that makes Peter cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. Stiles doubts he can tell the difference by now. It all blurs into wonderful endorphins after a while.

Everything is silent, Peter’s body heaving as he takes in breaths, his legs quivering beneath him. Boyd doesn’t rush him into continuing the scene, doesn’t prompt him like he did earlier to say the required words. He gives him space and time to gather himself, waiting patiently in position for Peter to give the signal to keep going.

Finally, Peter lifts his head a fraction, sweat sticking his hair to his neck. “Thank you, Mr. Boyd,” he says, his voice so beautifully compliant.

“You’re welcome, Peter,” Boyd says with genuine warmth, running the edge of the riding crop over Peter’s abused skin, making him whine high in his throat. Boyd walks back to the chair in the same steady way he left it earlier, sitting back down and adjusting himself to be comfortable before his eyes fall back on Peter. “Crawl to me.”

Peter’s arms look stiff as he starts to push himself back up onto all fours. His eyes look blurry but he takes his time, is careful with himself, and Boyd is so perfectly patient with him. Peter goes tentatively at first, moving a hand, then a knee, until he finds a rhythm in the motion and moves forward, stopping just short of Boyd and waiting.

Boyd leans down, reaching into his bag and pulling out a condom. He unfastens the bulging front of his pants, taking out his cock and then tearing open the condom wrapper, rolling it down his length. Stiles can see Peter’s eyes following every movement, his mouth already hanging open. Boyd shuffles forward in the chair, leaning back, looking like a king in a throne. It’s such a fitting metaphor. He presents his cock to Peter like a gift.

“Go ahead.”

Peter sinks down on it with a moan, taking him in deep and sucking, and Stiles knows that he’s indulging himself. He loves having a cock bumping against the back of his throat, threatening to choke him. It’s gives him a sensation of being so utterly owned. Boyd lets him have it for a moment but then he lifts his hips, triggering Peter’s gag reflex in warning, and Peter gets the message, pulling back and suckling at the head before he slides down the length again.

Once he’s moving smoothly, eyes closed in bliss, Boyd rewards him by lifting the crop and running it lightly up and down Peter’s back. Peter arches into it, moaning around Boyd’s cock as he opens his eyes and looks up at him with adoration. Boyd smiles at him, a moment of pure connection and understanding between them, and then Boyd lifts the crop, snapping it down on Peter’s back. It’s not hard like it was on his ass, it probably won’t leave a mark, but it’s enough to paint a pink stripe over him, enough for him to feel. Peter moans, eyes damp, silently asking for more.

Boyd gives him strikes at Peter sucks his cock, not building in intensity like he was before, just enough to keep the sensations ticking over, keep him in that happy place where the endorphins are in charge and the happy signals in his brain are triggered over and over. He’s so vulnerable and grateful and needy when he’s in that headspace. Stiles loves seeing him there, but it fills him with need.

“Chris,” he says, pressing further into his side.

Chris looks over at him, instantly alert and attentive. “You okay?”

Stiles nods, his eyes lingering on Peter for a moment longer before he drags his gaze over to Chris. “I want him.”

Chris licks his lips, turning back to the room. “Boyd,” he says. “We’re going to want him back just as soon as you’re done with him.”

Boyd gives a nod of understanding. Chris isn’t going to cut him off, but it’s a clear instruction to wind things up. Chris has always been running this scene. Deucalion and Boyd have respected that.

“You hear that?” Boyd says, raking the crop down Peter’s back and over his sensitive ass, making him whine. “Your warm-up’s nearly over.”

He gives a sharp slap on Peter’s ass and then grabs him by the hair with his other hand, pulling him onto his cock. He holds him there as he fucks into his mouth, resting the crop heavy against his lower back as a reminder. The crop has never been a punishment though. It’s all reward. Maybe if Peter is good, he gets another one.

Boyd’s cool exterior starts to slip, biting down on his lip as he watches his cock slipping in and out of Peter’s swollen lips, shining with saliva. He groans, the sound seeming to rumble through his chest rather than out of his mouth, taking in harsh breaths before he tips back his head, mouth falling open. He gives a few more harsh thrusts and then he comes, hips stuttering as he holds Peter in the perfect position. Stiles knows that for Peter it will feel incomplete with the barrier of the condom stopping the flood of come into his mouth, but he looks like maybe he’s too far gone to even care.

Boyd takes a deep breath, composing himself before lifting his head, looking down at Peter who’s still sucking gently on his cock. Boyd smiles at him, pleased and proud and predatory, and then he brings the crop down one more time, hard, right where it’s the most painful. It rings out throughout the room, as does Peter’s muffled moan, Boyd rubbing a thumb over his cheek before he sits back, pulling his hands away.

“Sit,” he says.

Peter lets Boyd’s cock slip from his mouth, sitting back on his heels, the movement too heavy, making him grunt as the sensitive skin of his ass connects with his feet. He sways slightly, so content, even though his own cock is straining up against his stomach, tight and painful.

“He’s all yours,” Boyd says to Chris. “You should be very proud of him.”

“We are,” Chris agrees, squeezing Stiles’ thigh as he hops down from the bed. “Always.”

Stiles nods, getting down on unsteady feet and pouring out a fresh glass of water as Chris goes to Peter, sliding his fingers through his hair, petting him without pampering. They’re not done with him yet, Peter can’t sink to that happy place of being done. Chris wants to keep the play in him, that edge of need that fuels his desire to please.

Stiles goes over with the glass, crouching down beside Peter. “Hey,” he says gently. Peter smiles at him, glassy eyed and totally gone. “Drink,” Stiles says, holding the glass up to his lips. Peter parts them, letting Stiles pour some of the liquid into his mouth, giving him little sips as he sits there limply, hands resting on his thighs. It doesn’t even occur to him to help. Stiles kind of loves that. He’s deferring everything to Stiles. It’s an honour.

Chris crouches down on the other side of Peter, still running his fingers through his hair. “I think we should take this somewhere a little more private.” He looks over at Stiles. “Can you grab his clothes?”

“Sure,” Stiles agrees, putting the glass aside. There’s not much to collect, just his T-shirt and pants and shoes. And the plug. He crosses the room, grabbing his jacket from the bed.

“Come on, Cub,” Chris soothes, moving Peter’s pliant body until he has him gathered up in his arms, romance novel style. Peter’s arms go around his neck as he’s lifted, making a little noise as he buries himself in Chris. “I know,” Chris says quietly, walking with him toward the door. “One minute.”

Stiles pulls the curtain aside, self-conscious about Peter’s nudity, but it’s expected in this part of the club. He’s had eyes on him from the window this entire time anyway. Stiles lets Chris lead, navigating deeper into the corridor, passing more playspaces, before he finds a room with an open door. Not a curtain, a door. Stiles guesses that’s another secret code. There’s no window in here, and once the door is closed behind them, they have privacy. Chris takes Peter to the bed, putting him gently down, Peter trying to cling to him.

“Shhhh,” Chris says. He looks at Stiles, giving a nod. It’s his turn.

Stiles hops up onto the bed, shifting back so that he’s sat sideways with his back to the wall and his legs dangling over the edge. He pulls Peter to him, Peter instinctively going to straddle his lap without having to be asked. Stiles holds him and runs his hands up and down his back as Peter presses his face into his neck.

“You are incredible,” Stiles says, letting the awe come through in his voice. “Cub, I’m so proud of you. It means so much that you let me call you mine.”

Peter whines, nuzzling against him.

“I’m going to claim you now,” Stiles tells him, shifting him back so that he can get to the front of his pants. “I’m going to let you have my cock.”

Peter breathes out with a relief like that’s all he’s wanted all night. Stiles can’t help but be charmed by it. His pants are too tight to get out of in any elegant way, but Peter moves with him and Stiles manages to get his cock out, hard and aching already. He can’t imagine how Peter’s feels. He’s not going to think about that yet. This is for him. That’s how Peter wants it. He would be happy with tonight even if he didn’t get to come at all. Stiles has no intention of doing that to him though.

Chris crosses the room, standing behind Peter and leaning around him to dribble lube from a little packet onto Stiles’ cock. Stiles smiles in amusement, even as he hisses at the sensation of it.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Chris says. “Now fuck him before he completely falls apart.”

Stiles looks at Peter, catching his eye. “Yeah, he’s been a good boy. I’m going to be good to him.”

The hope and gratitude in Peter’s eyes lights something up inside Stiles. He guides his hips, feeling the heat from his spanked ass, guiding himself inside, Peter sitting down on him with little thought or design. Stiles nearly swallows his tongue. He’s so open and warm and ready. He clings to Stiles’ shoulders and presses their foreheads together and gives the most perfect little moan.

“You are such a good little Cub,” Stiles tells him, the words tumbling out, and then he’s fucking up into him, letting it take them both over.

He barely aware of Chris opening another packet of lube before he’s leaning over again, dribbling the lube over Peter’s cock this time. Peter cries out, his cock jumping and his ass tightening around Stiles, making him grit his teeth.

“Such a good little Cub,” Chris agrees, reaching between them and wrapping his hand firmly around Peter’s cock.

Peter lets out a sob, arching his back, and Stiles is pretty sure he would have fallen right off Stiles’ lap if Chris wasn’t there to catch him. He stands firm behind him though, boxing him in as he moves his hand rapidly over Peter’s cock. He’s not teasing, he’s giving him what he needs, and Stiles matches the rhythm, even as his vision goes out of focus and his muscles burn. He can’t even imagine how Peter must feel.

Peter comes, all over his stomach, all over Stiles’ T-shirt, writhing in his lap and clamping down on his cock. It’s all far too irresistible and it only takes a couple of thrusts into that beautiful, willing heat before Stiles is coming too, pulling Peter down onto him as he grinds upwards, drawing every last drop of pleasure out of them both.

Peter falls boneless against him as Chris pulls his hand away and Stiles just holds him and soothes him and tells him that he’s good in whispered tones in every way that he can think of. Peter isn’t settling though. Stiles knows the feeling of him when he’s done. Stiles’ stomach turns over because he must have done something wrong, Peter must not be okay. As he lifts his head from Stiles’ shoulder, Stiles searches his face for any clue of how to fix this, but Peter just flops back against Chris who runs his fingers lovingly through his hair.

“Chris,” Peter croaks out. “You. Now you.”

Stiles feels himself settle. Peter isn’t done because he hasn’t had them both. The whole evening has been about the bond the three of them share, the trust that extends so far and wide, unbreakable. Peter needs them both.

“I’m fine,” Chris says, voice soft and level. “You did so much for me, Cub. I don’t need that. You make me so content.”

Peter shakes his head, looking up at him, his eyes practically rolling back in his head. “I need you now.”

Chris takes a breath and then nods his head in understanding. “You just want to get so fucked out you feel it for days,” he says, pushing Peter off him and passing him back to Stiles whose soft cock is still buried inside him. “You’ll feel this,” Chris says, slapping a hand firmly on his ass, making Peter’s whole body tense with a little gasp. “You’re going to feel this too,” he says, unzipping his pants and then pushing up against him. Stiles can feel his cock rubbing against the base of his own. “I bet you could take us both like this.”

“Yes,” Peter hisses.

Chris meets Stiles’ eyes but he looks amused. “We’re going to save that for another day.”

Stile nods his head, his hands going to Peter’s hips to lift him up, letting his cock slip free. Peter whines, but Chris is there in an instant, not letting him be empty. Peter shudders, and Stiles knows that being fucked after you’ve come, especially after such an intense session, isn’t really fun for anyone. For Peter, it’s much more about the mental than the physical though. That’s where his submission really is.

“I’ll be quick,” Chris promises, keenly aware of his physical discomfort that’s at odds with what he needs.

Stiles leans back fully against the wall, pulling Peter with him, raising his ass up and putting him as a better angle for Chris. He pets Peter, leaving little kisses along the side of his face as Chris fucks into him, putting effort into making his thrusts smooth and deep, going for the minimal amount of over stimulation. Peter whimpers against Stiles, his face wet, but tears don’t mean bad for Peter. Tears mean he’s in a place much sought after. Tears mean complete surrender.

Chris’ thrusts become tighter and Stiles can see the willpower he’s putting into it. Peter feels so good though, and Chris is fucking right into Stiles’ come. Just the thought of that makes Stiles want to get hard again. He watches Chris as he snuggles Peter against his chest, and he can see how close he is, the strain in his body and that look in his eyes. He doesn’t fight it, falls into it, his hips going fluid as he comes inside Peter, gripping his hips hard, Peter making the most beautiful sound, like it feels just as good to him.

Chris rubs Peter’s hip as he pulls out of him, Stiles holding Peter tight against the sensation. He watches Chris cross the room, rubbing circles into Peter’s back as he trembles in his arms, Chris grabbing the box of tissues and a neatly folded up blanket from the shelf. He unfolds the blanket as he crosses back over to them, wrapping it around Peter’s shoulders, making him cosy and safe.

He hops up onto the bed with Stiles, sitting beside him so that they’re pressed up against each other, grabbing Peter around the waist and tugging him into his lap. He’s not taking him away from Stiles. Peter’s legs are over Stiles’ lap and he snuggles equally into the warmth of them both.

Chris has one arm firmly around Peter, keeping him held tight, the other one pulling some tissues from the box and cleaning up Stiles. His cock is easy enough but this shirt might be ruined. Stiles literally couldn’t give a shit. He smiles fondly at it, one of his hands sliding up Peter’s thigh. It’s not sexual, he just wants them all entwined together. He wants them as one. Chris puts the tissues aside and takes hold of Stile’s other hand, the three of them in an easy, intimate silence.

“We’ll let him come around a little bit more,” Chris says, placing a kiss on the top of Peter’s head. “But not too much. We want to let him really savour it.”

“He’s a good Cub,” Stiles agrees, squeezing his thigh. “He deserves it. We’ll look after him.”

Peter hums a noise of approval.

“When he can walk, we’ll get out of there though,” Chris promises, leaning over to brush his lips against Stiles’. They stay there for a beat too long for it to be a peck. “We’ll go home and get wrapped up in bed, Cub in the middle, and we’ll take care of him.”

Stiles nods his head. “That sounds perfect.”

Chris smiles at him, all warmth and love, leaning in to join their mouths in another lingering kiss.


End file.
